She's Everything I Ever Wanted
by accioamber
Summary: A fic about House trying to raise his daughter and the little complications that come with trying to raise one. Now turning into the dramatic side. Please R&R! Maybe Houron later...HouseWilson FRIENDSHIP. Ch 11COMPLETE!
1. Happy Birthday

Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone from House, M.D. They belong to FOX, and I am INSANELY jealous. )

A/N: I thought this was an insanely adorable topic. To see how House would respond to those tricky little girl issues of raising a daughter…I myself am not a mom, being only 16, but I'm assuming it would be awkward for someone like House to raise a daughter with all of our tricky moments. Girls, you know what I'm talking about. ) Anyways, let me know if it sucks. The breaks are HouseHouseHouse. Oh, and it takes place after his girlfriend's death. R&R please! )

Househousehouse

Gregory House stood down the aisle of, apparently, tiny little pink things little girls played with. Everything was all tiny dolls with tiny shoes, frilly things, ballet slippers, and mini cars for a doll that was nicer than anything he'd ever owned. He felt overwhelmed.

He let out a big sigh of frustration. "I'm not ready for this. I can't do this! What am I doing here?" He grasped his cane and turned to leave the aisle, but instead turned back around. Amelia's birthday was tomorrow, her first birthday, and he had nothing for her.

He was emotionally overwhelmed right now. He had been with his girlfriend, Sarah, for two years. They'd had a child together, although Amelia was what you might call a surprise. He'd cared very deeply for her, more deeply for her than he'd felt for anyone in a long time.

Which was why his heart had broken in two when the cops showed up at their apartment, saying Sarah had been killed by a drunk driver.

That was two months ago, and all he had left was his baby girl, Amelia. Who was turning one tomorrow. And he had to go shopping for her.

Sarah had taken care of all this before. She had picked out all of the frilly little outfits, all the toys, all the everything, and now he had to do it.

He had no idea. Too bad it wasn't Amelia's 11th birthday instead of her first. He could have gotten her a gift card and called it a day.

To an outsider, he looked like a concerned father trying to pick out the perfect gift for his little girl. But to someone like Wilson, he looked like someone completely frustrated and out of options.

Wilson had called House at his apartment to see if he could come over, when he got the babysitter.

"I think he went to the store to go shopping for Amelia's birthday tomorrow…" said the absent minded teenager. She was 15 and lived next door to House. Why she'd associated with him, Wilson didn't know…

Anyways, Wilson had gone to the store to help. He knew this would be an incredibly emotionally trying time, and he would need all the help he could get.

Househousehouse

It was like House blinked and Wilson was there. He jumped. "What the hell?" he cursed, which sent a mother and her four year old out of the aisle, the mother shooting House a dirty look.

"Figured you might need some help." Wilson looked hopeful.

"I guess I'm lucky you eat neediness…" House muttered, then held up a stuffed elephant and a stuffed tiger. "This one or this one?"

It was kind of cute. They spent a half hour over the elephant vs. tiger debate, finally settling on the tiger, before moving onto dolls.

They spent another three hours there, amazingly, in the same aisle. He got her dolls, stuffed animals, and a doll house. Not to mention some expensive, complicated-looking baby electronics. He spent a few hundred dollars and made his way back home with Wilson.

Househousehouse

They both walked into the apartment. The zitty 15 year old held out her hand and said, "30 dollars."

House rolled his eyes and slapped the money into her hand. She pointed at the play pen to indicate where Amelia was, and flounced out.

"Bye, Little Miss Attitude." Wilson said as soon as the door was shut.

"If Amelia's that bad when she's 15, I'll have to kill her."

Wilson laughed and nodded. "I guess you better get to wrapping all these presents…" he said hello to Amelia and then excused himself.

House walked over to the play pen and extracted the baby. Singing softly to her, he rocked in the rocking chair in the corner. She coo-ed happily and laid her head down on his chest.

Then, as she softly slipped into sleep, he whispered, "I love you, Amelia. Happy early birthday."

Then, softly, he heard, "Da-da." Her first word.

It warmed his heart and made him sad at the same time. Sarah would have been ecstatic. She'd have been running around the apartment looking for the baby book and telling Amelia how smart she was over and over. He looked down at the sleeping baby.

All he could do was nod sadly and stroke her soft brown hair. And rock her gently some more.

Househousehouse

A/N: So, what do you think? R&R please! Expect a party and a wedding in the next couple chap's…that is, if you like it!


	2. Here Comes The Bride

Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine.

A/N:OK, so here's hoping more people review. Thank you to the two of you who did though. You rock my socks.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

House and Wilson were sitting in House's backyard, watching Amelia climb on her little jungle gym. "Daddy! Daddy, Uncle Jimmy, watch me!" she yelled, sliding down the slide.

"Good job, kid." House called. He'd never gotten into the enthusiastic style of parenting Wilson wanted him to.

As if on cue, Wilson nudged him and said, "Maybe you ought to be more enthusiastic, House. You know, that's probably the most important thing she's done today."

"Dude. Seriously. Go home to your fiancée and have sex. Because if what you're worrying about is my amount of enthusiasm at my 3 year old sliding—"

"Or lack thereof…"

"down the slide, then you REALLY need to get some." House said.

"Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you about that." Wilson said, rubbing his hands together. Amelia jumped up and down on the mini trampoline House had bought her for Christmas.

"You wanted to talk to me about how often you and Sara are doing the nasty?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "No. And lower your voice. Do you not care if your three year old picks up language like that?" Wilson saw the look on House's face and said, "I guess that's a no. Anyways, look. Sara has no little girls on her side of the family, and well, neither do I. Except my brother Andy's daughter, but she's a brat. My point is, would Amelia like to be the flower girl at me and Sara's wedding?"

House looked at his little girl, who, somehow, and turned out so unlike him. "Sure. I don't care. As long as she wants to, it's fine with me. Hey, shorty!" He called to her. "Come here."

She bounded up to the two of them like an eager puppy and said, "What, Daddy?" She climbed up on his lap and he winced at the extra pain she brought to his bad leg.

"Uncle Jimmy wants to know if you'll be the flower girl at his wedding. You want to?"

"YES!" She screamed eagerly, dropping off of House's leg and hugging Wilson hard. "What's a flower girl, Uncle James?" She looked up at him with her pretty blue eyes, something she had inherited from House.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

"How do you like this one, Greg?" Sara asked, leading Amelia out of the dressing room by the hand.

"Yeah. How do you like this one, Daddy?" She asked, twirling around. Sara beamed at her. She hoped to one day have a little girl as beautiful and eager as this with Wilson. Then she looked at House, who was concentrating on passing his cane back and forth between his hands. Who was he to get such a wonderful little girl? He didn't appreciate her.

"I told you, whatever's fine, Sara. Doesn't matter to me."

"You've said that about the last 25 dresses, Greg. You must have some opinion." Sara sighed.

"Look, I told you…'" he was cut short by Amelia hopping up on his lap and grabbing his cheeks with her pudgy hands.

"Daddy. Do I look _puh-retty_ in this one?" she asked hopefully, hopping down and twirling around again.

He looked up for the first time and saw his little girl.

"Daddy." She placed her hands on her hips and said. "You're 'plosed to say _something_."

"Amelia." He grabbed her cheeks with his hands and drew her eyes to his. "You look _beautiful_." Amelia smiled.

"Really!" Sara said. "Then I suppose you like this one, Greg. We'll take this one." She said to the woman helping out.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

Three months later, House stood next to Wilson at his wedding, watching Amelia walk down the aisle, concentrating hard on dumping only five petals with every step she took, like the woman had said. Her tongue was poking out, like she was thinking hard.

"She's got your level of concentration." Wilson whispered to House. "Look at her. When she wants to get something done…she does it the right way." He grinned.

House smiled. "Yeah, I guess so."

She got to the end of the aisle and found herself with a basket leftover of flowers. She shrugged and dumped them all in a big heap, much to the amusement of the church.

"_That's my little girl_." House thought to himself.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

A/N: R&R please:)


	3. Questions

Disclaimer: Nope.

A/N: So, thx for reviewing, all of you! You rock! Now, let's keep it up! **SPOILERS,** ye be warned, for…ummm all seasons. Stuff about House's leg.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

"Hey, Dad?" Amelia asked, looking up from her bowl of cereal. It was seven thirty in the morning on a school/work day, and House was not in the greatest of moods. He hated getting up early. That had been the biggest (and hardest) adjustment of raising his daughter. It wasn't her incessant curiosity, or having no clue of how to deal with anything. It was the getting up early.

"What?" he grouched, looking up from his PSP long enough to shoot a glare across the kitchen table. She knew how he felt about mornings.

"Why's your leg so bad? I mean, why doesn't it work the right way?" she asked, in a purely innocent way. Amelia was seven, almost eight years old and hadn't yet grown out of the bluntness stage.

House took a deep breath, sighed and set down his PSP. It was way too early for this.

He knew, had known, since the moment he'd watched her in the nursery the day she was born that he would have to deal with this. He knew just by looking at her that she was going to be the inquisitive kind, the kind that would want to know everything. She would be like him that way. And he had known that his leg fitted into the subset of "everything".

Cuddy and Wilson hadn't seen it. They'd been standing next to him in the nursery, and Cuddy had placed her hand ever so gently on his elbow and said, "She's beautiful, House. Obviously doesn't have your genes at all." She'd laughed.

He didn't say anything. Just thought about how he would have to deal with it. He would have to deal with it. Deal with it…

"You shouldn't ask people so…bluntly about what's wrong with them. It's not nice."

"I'm sorry, Daddy." She said quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

He nodded slightly and said, "It's ok, Amelia. I know you didn't."

She nodded and dug her spoon back into her bowl of cereal. Several minutes later, he asked her, "Do you still want to know?"

"Yes." She said.

"It was a long time ago. 12 years ago. My leg started hurting very badly." He said quietly. "Remember Stacy, the woman I told you about?" He asked her.

"Yeah. That lady who was mean and broked your heart?" she said innocently.

"Uncle Jimmy told you about my heart being broken didn't he? Anyways, yeah, that's her. She made me go to the hospital, where the doctors there…they made some bad choices in the way they chose to treat me. They were wrong. Wrong!" he said angrily, banging his cane.

She jumped, and he apologized. "Anyways, if they hadn't been wrong, my leg might be better now. But, they were. After three days, they found out I had what's called an infarction. Basically, a big bad thing in my leg was stopping the blood from going everywhere in my body."

He studied her, his little girl. She was leaning on her hands, listening intently. "Go on, Daddy." She said quietly.

"I told them to…take out the big bad thing and they did. It hurt so bad they had to knock me out. And that was when Stacy rode up on her big white horse and…well, she had the doctors do _another_ procedure. That one was what turned my leg into a useless, painful, hunk of dead meat." He said cynically.

He watched her, watched for her reaction.

"Oh. OK." She stood up and dumped her cereal bowl into the sink and gathered her books off the table. "The bus is coming, I gotta go. Bye, Dad! Love you!" she said. She kissed his cheek timidly and ran out the front door, leaving it open.

"Stupid kid, leaving the front door open…" he muttered. Really, he was just frustrated. How could she just listen to that story, the destruction of his life basically, and just say "Oh. Ok."?

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

"She's just…being seven, House. How did you want her to react? Fall to the ground, weeping?" Wilson asked later. "Plus, you said you knew this was going to come, anyways. Why were you so caught off guard?"

"I don't know. I should've known what to say, but I didn't. At least she knows now, though. At least she knows why her father's basically a useless cripple."

Wilson rolled his eyes and reached for a file on the lower shelf of his desk. "Drama queen." He said.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

A/N: Sorry it was so short…not much time today. :) r&r!


	4. New Situations

Disclaimer: Uh uh. (shakes head sadly).

A/N: Tried to make this a bit longer… You're the best, let's keep reviewing:) Awkward chapter lol. OOC.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

It was a Friday, and House rocked back in his chair in his office. He was a little woozy. His leg had begun a thumping of unbearable pain early this morning, causing him to get up about three hours earlier than he had to and pace around the apartment. Sweat had beaded on his forehead, his breathing grew shallow, little cries of pain escaped from his mouth.

This type of pain generally came about once, twice a month. The kind that was so unbearable, he couldn't focus on anything else. Before Amelia, he had been able to scream if he wanted to. He could throw things, he could slam his cane angrily on the table, anything to block the pain out. But now, and for the last 13 years, he'd had a sleeping child in the other room, and he had to keep it down.

Actually, the last 12 years. Before Sarah had died, from the time Amelia was an infant, if he was having that kind of pain, she would wake up (light sleeper that she was,) pack up the baby and go to a friend's house for a few hours, until they both came home from work. She would always set the infant car seat down, come over to him and hug him. "You need to be alone, Greg. I get it."

But for the last 12 years, there had been no one to shield Amelia from the unbearable, excruciating pain her father was in. This morning, he'd let out an involuntary yelp of pain, and he held his breath, waiting to see if she would come out of her bedroom.

She had, and she had had fear on her face. "Dad, are you ok?" she asked timidly, her voice a bit thick from sleep.

"No, kiddo, I'm not. Can you just..." he forced a scream of pain back down his throat. "Can you just go back to bed?"

"Dad, can I help? Is there something I can do?"

"No! Damn it, Amelia, can't you ever just LISTEN TO ME? Can't you ever just do what you're told?! You're worse than Cameron, Foreman, _and_ Chase! At least they listen to me _half_ the time. You don't ever listen at all! Just go! Leave me alone!"

A look of anger had passed over her face and she'd said in a half trembling, half angry voice, "I hate you." and ran from the room.

He'd been in too much pain to go after her, and to do it would have been admitting he was wrong. And he wasn't. Amelia had been stubborn since she'd been a year and half old. Wilson said it was because she'd been living with House and House alone, but House insisted it was just who she was. It had been cute when she was almost two. Now it was just...frustrating.

"Fine." he'd muttered to himself. "Be like that." He'd continued his pacing around the apartment for a few more hours before poking Amelia awake with his cane at 6:45 for her to get up. "Get up, sleepy head."

Then he crawled back into bed, waiting for the pain to subside. Usually he was up and around before then, helping her get ready little by little, but this morning...no. They'd had a fight and his leg hurt. Perfect excuse to sleep in.

It wasn't, however, a perfect excuse to miss work. He knew Wilson would be all over him about psychological pain and how he needed to see someone about it, and blah blah blah; boring. So he got up when the alarm sounded at 8:45, painfully took a short shower, and got on his bike.

By 1:30 his leg had been throbbing so badly, he'd chugged a three or four (he couldn't really remember) Vicodin combo and as a result, the wooziness. He'd cleverly managed to avoid Wilson for most of the morning, and now he was getting ready to take a nap. The team was busy with their case and knew his leg was hurting, so they'd leave him alone. He'd done a couple of clinic hours that morning, enough to satisfy Cuddy for the moment, and Wilson had some Oncology symposium until four or five, so that was that.

He laid in his chair and turned it away from the light poring into the office from the hallway. His leg hurt too much to get up and close the blinds, so he just left them open. Let people see. He didn't care.

He woke up with Cameron poking him. "House." She whispered quietly. "House, the patient's getting worse. We need to do a differential."

"Ughhh…leave me alone, Cameron." He whined. He looked at his watch and saw it was almost six o'clock. "I have to get going anyways. Just uh…talk to Foreman and Chase. Better yet, poke the patient with something sharp and see what happens. I gotta go…Amelia's been home for about 3 hours now. Who knows what kind of trouble she could've gotten into…"

He stood up and winced as a sudden shot of pain went through his body. Cameron lurched to his side and he shook her off. He'd obviously slept off the Vicodin, so he threw back another one and started out to his bike.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

He ran into Wilson in the hallway. "Where've you been all day? Something wrong?" he asked in a concerned voice as House nearly collapsed against the wall.

"I'm fine. But I have to go now. Stuff to do, people to see, children to beat." He said.

"Uh, House. You just collapsed against a hospital wall, you're not ok. Let me just…" The look of anger and pain on House's face stopped Wilson in his tracks. There would be no new MRI images, no CT scans. "Fine. Can I just bring pizza by the house later, then? We'll eat dinner with Amelia. Come on, I'm betting you haven't eaten all day."

House's stomach growled at that proclamation, so he nodded. "Fine. Come soon. I don't feel like cooking. Brace yourself, though, because Amelia's not talking to me. We got in a fight this morning when my leg was killing me. I'll see you later." He walked down the hallway, slowly, gingerly, rubbing his thigh when he got around the corner, away from Wilson's prying eyes.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

When he got home, he banged into the front door, announcing his presence without saying anything. He figured Amelia was still pissed, and would want to be alone. They could…(he sighed inwardly)…_talk_ about it later. He walked down the hallway, pausing to grip his cane in an awkward stance of pain.

He paused outside of Amelia's room.

Her room had stayed a stationary white color with plain walls and a bed with plain sheets until she was about eight, and had asked to pick out the colors in her room. "Daddy, can I have a green room?" she'd asked. He'd nodded, and that afternoon, they'd gone to the store (Wilson in tow of course) and picked out green paint for the wall, a green bedspread, green sheets, and a stereo, just for good measure.

"Why, Dad?" she'd asked, and he muttered, "Every child needs the art of good music…" he'd smiled.

He smiled then and he smiled now, thinking of how much she'd changed. Then, as he watched her, he noticed she was crying, and shaking. He walked into her room.

"Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?" he asked softly, breaking his ban on not talking to her. "You ok?"

She wiped a few tears away and shook her head no.

"Well, then, what's the matter?" She shook her head again.

"Tell me. Does it hurt, whatever it is?"

She looked up at him, and as the doorbell rang, signaling Wilson was there with the food, she said to him, "Dad…I…started my period today."

He didn't know if it was possible to blush and pale at the same time, but he managed to do so. "Oh. Are you, um, ok? Do you have…umm…" he shifted uncomfortably. "…cramps, or anything?"

She nodded. "Yeah, they hurt really bad, Daddy. Really bad." She started crying again.

His fatherly instinct kicked in as he heard Wilson open the door with his key. He wrapped his arms around her in a hug and felt her latch on tightly. He smoothed her hair with one hand. "It's okay, punkin, it's ok…" he said, using the pet name he reserved only for high pressure/anxiety/emotional situations. "It'll be ok…"

Wilson called, "Hello? I know you're both here…where are you?"

"Do we…" House cleared his throat. "…need to go to the store, for um, well, you know." She nodded slightly.

House said, "Ok, let's go then. Uncle Jimmy brought pizza for dinner, but we can eat it when we, um…get back." _Man, is this situation uncomfortable_, he thought.

She snapped her head up off of House's chest. "Does Uncle James have to go, Dad?"

"No. Not if you don't want him to. I can tell him we're going on a little Vicodin run." He took out his pill bottle, popped the cap off, and shook the white pills into his jacket pocket. "He won't want to have anything to do with that. You know how he thinks I have a little 'problem'." He said, posing quote marks in the air.

"By the way, here's something to take the edge off." He said quietly, handing her a Vicodin.

"Should I…?" she asked, rolling the pill between her fingers.

"I'm a doctor. Would I give you, an innocent 'patient' and my own daughter, something that could harm you?" he asked innocently.

She regarded him seriously. "Yes."

"OK, I would, but just take it."

She swallowed the pill as they made their way down the hallway. Wilson had taken up shop on the sofa, watching a movie.

House held out the orange bottle. "Vicodin run! Be back soon!"

Wilson nodded and grunted a reply. "Yep."

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

"Oh, my God, you're not gonna believe what happened yesterday! We didn't go on a Vicodin run, me and Amelia!" House hissed to Wilson in the cafeteria the next morning. "She got her period yesterday!"

"Yeah. Kinda figured that one out when she went right to the bathroom with the drug store bag in her hand and when you poured an entire bottle of Vicodin out of your pocket back into an empty prescription bottle." Wilson stabbed a piece of waffle with his fork. "That must have been awkward."

"Jimmy, you don't even know the half of it…"

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

A/N: R&R:) Told you it was awkward haha.


	5. Jailbird

Disclaimer: Uh uh.

A/N: So, the whole story was AU up until this point. **Spoilers for the WHOLE Tritter arc.** I'm throwing Amelia into the middle of that, like how would House deal with having her while going through all that crap? R&R

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

"One phone call." Tritter, (the asshole, House thought bitterly) handed House a phone. He thought. It was nine o clock at night. Even though Amelia was 15 now, he didn't want her staying home by herself all night long. He picked up the phone and dialed Wilson's hotel number by heart.

The phone rang several times before someone picked up. "Princeton Suites, how may I help you?"

"Hey, I need to talk with James Wilson right now, please. Now. It's very important." House tapped his good foot on the floor of his cell.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Wilson is out right now. Can I leave a message?" House hung up on the girl.

"Guess your arrogance tuned someone out finally." Tritter chuckled and dragged the phone away from the cell.

"Hey, I need one more call! Come on, just one more."

"I said one phone call, House. One. I know you think you can push the rules by manipulating people, but I am not able to be manipulated." Tritter parked himself in his chair.

"Look, I'm not gonna apologize to you. I strongly believe you're a no good asshole and I have no business being here. But I have a kid at home, and I need to call somebody and have somebody go over there and get her. She can't stay at home all night by herself. Please, Tritter. I wasn't calling Wilson to come get me, I was calling him to go get her." House paused.

"Fine." Tritter grunted, and handed the phone back to him. "You have five minutes. And this is it. Nobody picks up, your kid's by herself." He yelled.

House sneered under his breath, "Dick." And dialed Wilson's cell. "Pick up, Jimmy. Come on, don't fail me now. Come on…"

Finally on the fifth and final ring, Wilson picked up. "James Wilson." House heard the shuffling of paper.

"Who the hell is still at the hospital at 9 pm on a Wednesday night?" House growled angrily.

"House? Where are you, I didn't recognize the number on the caller I.D." Wilson decided to skip the sarcasm and just jump to the important parts.

"Eh, I'm in jail, no biggy. Look, I'm gonna be here all night, so I need you to go get Amelia and bring her back to your place, kay? Just for tonight. And then pick me up in the morning. Bring dough, and lots of it. K, bye. Thanks."

"What? Why the hell are you in jail?" Wilson asked incredulously.

"It's a long story so I'll tell you tomorrow. Are you gonna get Mia, or not?" he asked.

"Of course I'll get her, but I just want to know why you're in jail, now." Wilson said.

"Remember that asshole cop from the clinic? Well, he tracked me down and—"

"Time's up." Tritter pressed the disconnect button and pulled the phone away. House shrugged and sighed and settled back in his cell, waiting until the morning came. He'd spent nights in jail before. This would be no different, he'd just wait for Wilson to show up with the money, and he'd be out of here.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

The next morning, Wilson came at about ten. He paid House's bail, retrieved him from the cell, and dragged him to the car.

"Damn Tritter. He's 'investigating' my Vicodin habit. He's just pissed because of the thermometer." House muttered.

"Yeah, whatever." At the time, Wilson wasn't worried. No one was. They were all sure that Greg House would get out of this one unscathed as he always did.

"What'd you tell Amelia?" House asked worriedly. In truth, it's what had kept House up all night. That and the throbbing in his leg.

"I told her you guys were staying late at the hospital. Needed to run some tests on the patient. Truth be told, I don't think she believed me. She just said, 'Uncle James, Dad doesn't have a case right now.' I told her you had just gotten one, but whatever. Maybe you should tell her the truth."

"That's funny. Like that's gonna happen."

"Ah, that's right. You haven't even told the truth to me."

So, House cleared his throat.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**


	6. Explanations

Disclaimer: Same as all the other chapters.

A/N: Again, spoilers for the Tritter arc. R&R!

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE

Nobody ever expected it to get as bad as it did. Nobody wanted it to get as bad as it did, least of all Amelia, who lost respect for her father those two long months.

That day Wilson bailed him out of jail, he took House back to his hotel room to get Amelia, who was waiting for him.

In the hotel lobby, Wilson said, "I'm thirsty. I think I'll run to the soda machine. You want anything?"

House slowly shook his head no. "I'm fine."

"Here's the room key." Wilson slid the key into House's clammy palm. "Room 231. But you probably knew that already." He saw House's pale face. "You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine!" he yelled, causing other guests sitting in the lobby, waiting to check in, to jump and glare at the crippled man.

"Fine. Go on up then."

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

Wilson retrieved his Coke and then jammed another dollar into the machine and bought House one too. When he got that one, he got another one for Amelia.

He jumped on the elevator and pushed the number two that he was so familiar in pushing. He didn't like living in a hotel, but he guessed that it would have to do for now. He'd become accustomed to coming "home" for the night, nodding at Trudy, the woman who worked the front desk at night, and getting into this very elevator and pushing the number two.

And then spending most nights alone. House had come by only once or twice, and Wilson wasn't really into hookers. He wasn't House. He wanted…commitment. House would probably say right now, "Why, so you can break it?" and then laugh bitterly.

He exited the elevator, juggling the three soda's and saw House, standing there, outside of his hotel room. "Hey," he started over to him, "What are you doing standing here? I did give you the key, right? Here, hold these." He said distractedly as he hunted through his pockets.

House held up the key. "Don't bother hunting, I have it."

"Well, then what the hell are you doing standing out here? Amelia's in there." Wilson said, pointing at the door.

"I know she's in there, genius! Why do you think I'm out here?" He hissed under his breath.

"Why don't you wanna see her?" Wilson asked quietly.

"Because…I don't know what to tell her." He said.

"I told you what I told her."

"You also told me," he whispered so that Amelia wouldn't hear him, "that she didn't believe you."

"Well, she's her daddy's daughter." He smiled. "What do you want to tell her?"

"I don't know! Why do you think I asked you?" He snapped.

"Want my opinion? Tell her the truth. She's Amelia. She's your Amelia. Whatever it is, she'll understand. She loves you, House."

"Fine." He swallowed and slid the key into the door and turned the lock.

Amelia's back was to the two of them. She said as soon as the door was open, "Uncle James, I'm hungry. There's nothing in the fridge to eat." She turned around from the bed and saw House.

"Oh. Hey, Dad." She stood up and walked towards the two of them, and House was struck once again, as he always was, of how much she looked like her mother.

Amelia had Sarah's dark, dark hair. It was the deepest color brown you could ever imagine without coming even close to black. And as he studied her, he noticed Sarah's chin, Sarah's jaw line, Sarah's ears, and her nose.

But _there_. One of the only physical ways you could tell she was Gregory House's child was her eyes. Stunningly blue, they fit in with her dark hair. With those eyes, she would

Amelia was 15 and had developed the curves of a young woman. She was thin, though, and was going through that phase where children have minds of their own. And she wanted to wear what she wanted to wear, which didn't bother House at all. At first it had, because he wasn't sure what she would choose to wear. What if he had gotten a girl who wanted to wear nothing but skirts and blouses? But luckily Amelia had gone the tomboy route and now took to wearing scuffed, faded, and holey blue jeans and t-shirts with clever comments on them. Then there was the occasional "root through daddy's closet" which would turn her out wearing one of House's button down shirts with her blue jeans, or one of his rock and roll tees.

He didn't like when she rooted through his closet. But his love for her surpassed the anger that came from, well, anything she ever did.

She had also taken very kindly to her iPod, which he'd purchased for her about four months ago. He'd promised her one if she could pull up the D she was receiving in all of her classes. "I want at least B's in all of them, or no iPod." He'd warned, figuring that with the three and a half weeks in the winter semester left (not to mention with finals) that she'd never do it. He'd underestimated her intelligence. She obviously got that from him too. She brought home a report card with five A's and one B, and dragged him to the store that night to get one. It hadn't been out of her ears since.

It was even in her ears now, music leaking out from the tiny ear buds, as she questioned House about one of the worst nights of his life. "Where've you been?" she asked.

"Uncle Jimmy told you. I had a late case." he said. He hated liars, but had convinced himself, and confirmed, that he was a good liar.

Not to his daughter though, and not to her prying eyes. She studied him for a few seconds and said, "You're lying. That's interesting. Why would you lie about something so simple as where you were last night? The answer is, you wouldn't. Not unless where you were and/or what you were doing is embarrassing. It's not a hooker. You'd be bragging about that."

Wilson turned red and glared at House. "You tell her about your hookers?!"

"It's not a case, because you wouldn't be staying there all night. You'd have made Chase, Cameron and Foreman stay late first. Then you would've come home. The only way you would have stayed all night there was if they paged you, and you just never came home. So. What other excuses you going to feed to me to get me to back down? You were saving a kitty from a tree?" she asked snarkily.

House pretended to punch her in the chin and said, "Aren't we the little wise-ass?"

Amelia turned serious. "Come on, Dad. Whatever it is, it's bad. And you can tell me."

Wilson nodded at him to go ahead, and then politely excused himself. "I'll go...get some food." He walked out of the room.

House sat on the bed next to Amelia and slung his arm lightly around her shoulders. She curled up next to him, neatly fitting into the spot beside him, closed her eyes and started to play with the penlight in his suit jacket, clicking it on and off, the way she did when they were like this. They hardly ever were, but when they were, she needed something to play with.

"Last night, I was in jail." he said.

"What for?" she murmured behind closed eyes, rolling the pen light between her fingers.

"Jaywalking." he said seriously.

She opened her eyes and glared a little. "They don't arrest you for jaywalking. And anywhere that would be far enough to jaywalk, you wouldn't be going because of your leg. Why were you in jail, Dad?" She said seriously.

"Some…cop came into the clinic yesterday, and I was…well, I was rude to him. I know, you're thinking, yeah, right! Not my dear old dad! But…it's true. I won't go into specific details of what happened, but in the end, I ended up taking a Vicodin. He was still pissed about earlier, so he followed me on my motorcycle when I was driving home and arrested me for possession of narcotics." He waited for her reaction.

She studied him for a moment then said, "Oh." Then she said worriedly, "Everything's gonna be ok, right, Dad?"

He touched her long brown hair and smoothed it a bit in an irregular fatherly gesture. "Yeah, yeah. Yeah, Mia, it's going to be ok."

She broke away from him gently and stared into his eyes. And he stared into hers. He saw it. She knew he was lying. He _wasn't_ sure it was going to be ok. He didn't know what would happen.

And truth be told, it kind of scared the hell out of him.

But then she said nothing, and slid back into his hug. She knew he was lying. But right now, she only wanted to be comforted, and try and believe that maybe it might be true. Because if she believed, it might come true.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

A/N: I thought it was one of the better chaps, but w/e. R&R!


	7. Search And Seizure

Disclaimer: Same as all the other chapters.

A/N: Thanks for R&Ring! This chapter will be partially told from Amelia's POV. I'll let you know when that's happening, k? After a break, it's not from her POV anymore.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE Amelia 

I was stupid enough to figure that once Dad said that everything would be ok, it would be. But it wasn't. Things just kept getting worse...

After we ate dinner with Uncle James that night, (I'd stopped calling him Jimmy when I was seven and he asked me not to,) he dropped us off at the impound lot where Dad paid the fee on his motorcycle. Needless to say, he grumbled the whole time, cursing out somebody named Tritter, who I figured was the cop who'd arrested him.

After that, we went home, in silence. Me with my arms clasped around Dad's waist, and Dad not saying anything over the whistling wind. He had had a hard time looking at me ever since he'd told me he was arrested. I tried to communicate through body language that everything was fine, that I understood. But it didn't seem to work.

When we got into the apartment, he threw the keys on the side table and said, "Ready for bed?", avoiding my eyes.

"Sure...", I muttered, even though it was only 9 o'clock. As I started off towards my bedroom, my backpack hitched over my shoulder, I felt Dad's hand softly on my back.

"Hey, wait a minute." He said softly. "Amelia...all this is going to go away. I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't. This cop has a stick up his ass longer than anything you've ever seen before, and he just wanted to get back at me for what happened earlier. OK? Everything will be fine."

I nodded and hugged him and said good night. But in his arms, I had the dreadful feeling that it wasn't over. That it wouldn't be over for a long time, and that he was only saying those things for himself.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

The next day, House arrived at work at 9:00, which was on time, and got Cuddy to worrying. He was never on time. What could be going on?

She filled him in on his case, a 600 pound man who had just woken from his coma yesterday when he'd had his day off, and left the office, speculating on what he was doing here on time.

As soon as Cuddy was gone, House asked the team for ideas. "Look, I just had a hell of a day and night, and I'd appreciate it if we could just cut right past the personal stuff and skip to the differential. OK, huge ass fat guy in a coma. Now he's out of coma. Why?"

Cameron studied him for a minute. "Are you OK?"

"See, me asking you guys to cut out my personal stuff was my way of telling you all not to be nosy. Now, I know how hard that is for you, Cameron, but you need to grow up and get the hell over it! DIFFERENTIAL!" House yelled at the top of his voice.

Cameron shrank back into her chair and murmured something about how it could be STDs.

Then Foreman, with a scowl at the way House was behaving, said, "I think it could be a hormone deficiency."

House glared at Foreman. "Continue..."

"Acute adrenal insufficiency could cause a coma." Then he glared back at House. "I think we should run an ACTH stimulation test and check his skin for acanthosis nigricans."

Cameron, meanwhile had regained her composure and said, "It could still be STDs! We should run a complete blood panel for STDs."

House nodded slightly and glared at Chase this time. "What about you, Wombat?"

"I think we should let him go home. Monitor him for a few days, and if he doesn't get worse, then it was a hematoma that dissipated."

House rolled his eyes. "Fine. Do all of the above. Cameron and Foreman, run your tests. And Chase, you can just sit on your ass." House turned and limped out of the office and went to take a nap.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

A bit later, House was sitting around with Wilson, tossing vegetables at him that he'd pilfered from his salad.

"So, have you talked to Amelia about what the hell all of this means?" Wilson asked, stabbing a beet with his fork and chewing on it.

House sighed. "About what? None of this means anything, and that sure as hell doesn't mean I should talk to my fifteen year old about it."

"House, I have a very strong feeling this isn't nothing. It's not going to just go away...you've gotten yourself into a mess of trouble, and Amelia is going to be affected."

"Whatever." He bit into a tomato at just the right angle, causing the juice to spit onto Wilson's freshly dry cleaned lab coat.

"Very mature."

"You started it!" House mocked, but then the ducklings came up.

"He wants to be checked out. We told him that he was sick, but he says he'll leave AMA if we don't check him out." Cameron gushed.

"Let's have a chat..."

In the middle of talking to his patient, House's cell phone went off. He picked it up and heard Amelia's voice sounding small and far away on the other end.

"Dad? Daddy? Please, you have to come home..."

"Why, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"I..."

"Baby, what's wrong?" he asked quietly into the phone, away from the patient.

"There's people here, and they're searching the apartment. You have to come quick, Daddy." She whispered.

"All right, all right. I'm on my way." He slammed the cover of the phone down and said, "To be continued." to the patient as he limped out the door.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

He banged into the apartment and looked around. It was a mess. Paper's were scattered everywhere. His guitars were thrown on the floor like trash. All of his books had been pulled out of the bookshelf, and everything he owned seemed like it was on the floor or had been pulled out of whatever drawer, cupboard or storage space it was in.

"What the hell's going on?!" He questioned loudly as a police officer came out of his bedroom with a few orange prescription bottles clutched in a gloved hand. He stuck them into a bag filled to the brim with prescription containers. He noticed Tritter, standing in the doorway to his bathroom.

"What are you doing here?" he angrily yelled, and then he said, "One moment."

He walked into Amelia's bedroom, which also had been ransacked. She was holding a frame which held a picture of her mother. The frame had been broken in the search, and she was crying. She had deep cuts on her palms from holding the glass, and when she saw House, she stood up and said, "Daddy!"

He came over and wrapped his arms around her, soothing her cries. "Shh, shh, it's going to be ok..."

"What's going on? What are they doing here?" she sobbed, repeating those words over and over. "What did we do?"

After a few moments, House heard Tritter's voice. "So, this is your daughter. Imagine our surprise when we came here and saw her."

"Maybe you should've left!" He screamed angrily, feeling Amelia shrink in his arms. "It's ok. I'll take care of it," he whispered to her.

He glared coldly at Tritter. "You can leave now."

"We need to talk. Now. It's up to you whether you do this in front of your daughter, but as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter to me when she loses respect for you."

House stood up and lifted his cane a little bit off the floor, ready to whack him, when he felt Amelia tug it gently back to the floor. So, that's what the kid was for. To stop him from being stupid in an already stupid situation.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE Amelia 

Dad followed the cop, whose name was Tritter apparently, into the living room, leaving my bedroom door open. I tiptoed to the edge of the door and watched.

Dad looked pissed. Well, he always looked pissed, but this time it looked like he could cause actual bodily harm to this cop.

Granted, I wouldn't blame him at all if he did. Tritter was an ass. About 180 pounds of pure ass. But he was also about 180 pounds of pure cop, and I didn't want him to do anything stupid and get himself in worse trouble.

Tritter held up a huge plastic bag filled with different sized prescription bottles. "There must be over 600 Vicodin in here. Now, most D.A.'s would say that proves intent to traffic." Trafficking. That meant Dad would be selling them to other people. "Even if all you intended was simply to be wasted 24/7 while practicing medicine."

Was he?

Dad walked over and picked up his guitar lovingly and set it back on the wall. "Those are prescription bottles. Now, I'm not an expert on linguistics, per se, but I think that means they were _prescribed_."

This wasn't happening. This could not be happening. Dad's Vicodin had never been a problem. Why now?

"All these," Tritter said, shaking the bag for emphasis, "were legally prescribed to a man who's in constant pain and yet never misses a day of work?"

I could read Dad's face like a book. I'm about to kick your fucking ass. "Ever occur to you that's _why_ I don't miss a day?" He shuffled around some papers.

Tritter pulled back his lips into an evil smile. "Yeah, it did. Also what an unprofessional, unethical, arrogant ass you are. Because if you're unprofessional in one area of your life, it makes sense. Now maybe, a few of those are in someone else's name. Forged prescription. Or just swiped from the pharmacy when nobody's looking."

Tritter stuck around just long enough to see Dad's facial expression reaction to that last part, and then he got his coat and left.

Dad turned slowly and looked at me. And I could tell from the look on his face that what Tritter had said had been the truth.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

A/N: I hope it was good. R&R.


	8. More Than I Wanted To Know

A/N: Spoilers for Son Of A Coma Guy, Whac A Mole. Generally skims over those. Also some of the episodes in early season three. It'll be a longish chapter. R&R!! Amelia has no idea yet that House forged the prescriptions…despite what may have been said in previous chapters…

Amelia 

It was a month. One long, miserable month that changed everything. It felt like so much longer.

In the course of that month, I discovered more about Dad than I ever would have guessed. I found out about what he did to Uncle James, for starters.

When I found out, I didn't believe it at first. I mean, Dad? Steal a prescription pad? Just so he could have Vicodin? No way. But then I saw the earnest look in James' face and I knew it was true.

I was hanging out at the hospital, waiting for Dad, when I saw Uncle James. I hadn't seen him in a few days, and he looked pissed. He wasn't eating in the cafeteria and he was late. He stormed in the front doors.

"James!" I called after him and sped up. He brushed me off and walked right past Cuddy. She decided she would chase him down.

"Wilson, you're never this late. What's wrong?"

"My car's being held hostage by Tritter until I decide to rat on House!" He yelled, and half the clinic turned and stared. Oh, my God. Was it true? Was Dad causing all of this?

Then Wilson, who was obviously peeved, started to yell at the pharmacist, Marco. All of his prescriptions had been bounced back.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Wilson…" poor Marco muttered. "Your DEA number has been suspended. You can't write prescriptions."

All this, because of my dad.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

That night, I was waiting in Dad's office for him to come in so we could go home. Lately his shoulder had been hurting, and he'd been in a rather crappy mood today. Chase had denied him from having Vicodin, which was just plain pissing him off.

I was sitting there, playing Dad's PSP, when I heard yelling coming from Uncle James' side of the office. I couldn't quite make out what they were saying, so I hopped over the wall and stood outside of his glass door to hear.

"YOU COMMITED A CRIME!" That was Uncle James, whose face was turning a pale pink with anger. He was angrily shuffling files and papers around. I was a little scared.

"Well, what do you want me to do? Turn myself in?" Dad asked incredulously. What would happen to me if he turned himself in? And what were they talking about? What crime had he committed? I wasn't aware at that time that Dad had forged the prescriptions. I just thought it was that cop being an ass.

"YES! DO SOMETHING! TELL TRITTER YOU'LL GET SOME HELP!"

Ooh. Jimmy should know by now that help was something Dad didn't take kindly to, and I was right.

He replied with "I DON'T _NEED_ HELP!"

I was beginning to get scared. I loved Uncle James, and I needed him in my life…what would happen if this broke their friendship? At the time, I still had no idea what Dad had really done. All I knew were the basics; he'd been arrested and caught with some Vicodin on him.

I continued watching. Uncle James started breathing heavily and looked down at his desk. I could now see in his eyes what I saw when everyone else looked at my Dad: pure hatred. And I had never, in my fifteen years of life, seen James look at Dad that way. It broke my heart.

"House, get out of here…Get out of here."

My eyes flickered towards Dad, who stood up and held his shoulder. "You are not gonna make _me_ feel guilty about what Tritter is doing: to us."

James started to laugh bitterly. "You already feel guilty. Your mysterious shoulder pain isn't coming from your cane, it's coming from your conscious. And that used to be enough. Despite all your smart ass remarks, I knew you gave a damn…this time... You were either gonna help me through this or you weren't." Then he looked up and focused all that hatred on Dad. "I got my answer."

And Dad walked out. Uncle James tucked his face into his hands and just stayed there until he looked up and saw me standing out there. He smiled sadly and stood up and walked over to the door. He pushed it open and smiled at me. "You want to come in?"

I came in and sat down in a chair opposite him.

"So…you heard all of that, I'm guessing?" he asked, putting a file onto a stack.

I nodded. "Uncle James…what's going on?"

He looked up at me and met my eyes. "I'm not so sure he wants you to know."

I scoffed. "Who gives a shit what he wants anymore?"

"Don't say shit…" he muttered, as a last attempt to avoid having this conversation, but I could see it in his eyes: he knew that I had to know.

"What did he do…to you?" I asked again, leaning forward.

"He's just so…" he sighed and covered his face with his hands. "I'm still not sure I should be telling you this. But I guess you're going to find out anyways, and I'd rather you found out through me rather than…someone else."

"Like that cop?" I asked.

He nodded and said, "Yeah, like that cop. Anyways…when your dad's ketamine treatment failed. He didn't tell anyone at first…but then he told me. He said his leg was hurting, and he thought that meant it wasn't working anymore. I didn't think it was true…oh, hell, I didn't want it to be true, so I told him it was just a pulled muscle. He insisted that it wasn't. He said it was his leg and he knew what infarctions felt like, and he told me to write him a prescription for Vicodin. I told him I wouldn't, so he took it upon himself to go into my desk when I wasn't here…and write one for himself." He paused to see if I understood.

To be honest…I didn't believe it. He wouldn't do something like that. He just wouldn't. "No, Uncle James, no…you've got to be wrong. You and that cop have both got to be wrong."

"I'm not wrong, Amelia…and he did it more than once. I saw the prescriptions…and then I lied. That's why all this crap is happening to me. The cop knows that I'm lying, so he froze my bank accounts, took away my car, and my prescription writing privileges. I'm…losing it. I don't know if I can do it anymore."

At the time, I still believed in my Dad. I still believed that what he did wasn't that bad. "If he did it, then he must've had a good reason."

"Amelia…" he could see that I was getting upset, so he walked over from behind the desk and tried to hug me, but I wiggled out of it.

"You have to keep doing it, James. I know it's hard, but you have to. You just…you have to." I turned and ran from his office.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

A/N: OK, not too long but I'm working on the next chapter right now. R&R! I'm having fun inserting Amelia into this already complex situation.


	9. It's Done

A/N: Umm…skims over Finding Judas and Merry Little Christmas, yes the episode you were all waiting for. :D OK, R&R! Oh, yeah picks up where the last chapter left off…sorry about the alternating you know. People telling the story. Whatever. I cant think right now :D Oh, and I took the "Pain" schpeal from Euphoria…number two I believe. :D

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

Amelia ran from Wilson's office and back into House's. He was sitting in his chair, looking outside at the dark night. He jumped a little and turned when he heard the glass door slam.

"Hey, there you are. Where've you been? Never mind, let's just go." He said, turning and wincing as he grabbed his backpack.

"Well, I just had a really interesting conversation with James." She said, glaring at him. He straightened up and looked at her.

"What did he tell you?"

"Well, he started out by telling me all about your little prescription writing…thing. Why would you do that, Dad? _How_ could you do that?"

"Amelia…it's really complicated and you just don't get it…so just stay out of it." He started to walk out the door. "Come on, let's go home."

"No! Dad, how complicated could it be? You went behind Uncle James' back and forged his name! That's illegal!" she grabbed his arm, the right one, the one that hurt.

"OW! Damn it, Amelia, don't you think I know that's illegal? Don't you think I _get it_ without you and Wilson jumping all over me about it? You two have never been in pain! Never." He looked out the door and rubbed his shoulder, then whispered, "And I hope to hell that you never are." He looked her square in the eyes. "This has been my default position from day one, and it's not going to change: Pain makes you make bad decisions. Fear of pain is almost as big of a motivator. OK?"

He waited to see if she got it.

"I got it. But you still shouldn't have done it…do you know the situation you've put him in?"

"OF COURSE I DO! DON'T YOU GET WHAT I'M SAYING!" He screamed, rattling the windows a little. She shrank back, then stood up straight.

"I'm not afraid of you, or what you could "do". I'm staying the night with Uncle James." She said, and left the room, walking slowly with her head held high.

At least until she turned the corner. When she reached Wilson's door, she slumped against it and buried her head in her hands and cried. Her sobs echoed down the hallway, and Wilson heard them and opened the door.

"Amelia! Are you ok?" he knelt down to the floor and sat down next to her, wrapping his arms around her. "What happened? You tell him?"

"Uh huh…" she hiccupped.

"What did he say?" he asked quietly.

"He said…something about how pain makes you make bad decisions and he knows it was wrong…"

"But he doesn't care." Wilson stated and looked up to see House standing hidden in the corner, not saying a word. He looked Wilson in the eye and nodded.

Then he turned and left without Amelia seeing.

"Can I stay the night with you, Uncle James?" she whispered in his arms.

"Sure. Of course. But…we're going to have to wait for the bus."

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

The next day, Amelia came back to the hospital with Wilson, bags under her red rimmed eyes. It had been a hard night for both her and Wilson. She was hungry and stopped in her Dad's office to grab some loose change to get something from the vending machine. However, he was sitting there in his office, staring angrily at his desk.

She let the door bang shut again to announce her presence. He looked up and saw her. "Hey," he muttered coolly. "How was Wilson's?"

"Fine." She said quietly. "Um, can I have a dollar, Dad?"

"Sure." He reached into his pocket and drew one out, handing it to her.

"Thanks. Are you ok?" she asked, seeing him wince whenever he moved.

"They…cut me to two pills every six hours. I'm in unbearable, excruciating pain right now." He stated matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry." She turned and left, leaving him alone with his thoughts, leaving him alone with the thought that he was losing his daughter.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

It was hard. Amelia spent the rest of the day watching her father be in pain, knowing there was nothing she could do about it. No matter how angry she was at him, she still loved him and didn't want to see him suffer. And she certainly didn't want James to tell on him.

But everyone has a breaking point, and Amelia understood that when she was walking back from the bathroom on the balcony and saw her Dad wind his fist up and punch Chase right in the face.

"DAD!" She screamed, and he looked up at her, the pain clear in his blue eyes. She ran down the stairs and leaned next to Chase. "Robert, are you ok?" she asked, gently touching his face, which was starting to bruise up.

"You…I can't believe you! What the hell was that for?!" she asked incredulously, but House just turned and walked away, leaving Amelia alone to help pick up the pieces.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

"How could you do something so…completely and utterly irresponsible? How could you just give him up_ just like that_? Don't you care about him?" Amelia yelled at Wilson.

"Amelia, yesterday you were so pissed at him that you would have given him up yourself! He's out of control. He has a drug problem, and those 2 months in rehab are going to get him all cleaned up, and you don't need to worry. You're going to be fine, I'll take care of you, and all of this will go away. You'll both be a lot happier." He tried to soothe her. They were in his office, and she'd just been told by House that Wilson had ratted on him.

"No! It's not going to be fine! You know that he will never take the deal, you know it! You knew that, you knew that when you ratted! You know he's too stubborn, and what the hell am I supposed to do? I would NEVER have ratted on him, and I thought you never would either." She whispered.

"I'm…sorry. I truly am. But it's best for him. When he's detoxing, he'll realize that he has a problem, and he'll go to rehab."

She just turned and left.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

She went home with Wilson. When she watched him shuffle out of the hospital without giving her a second thought, she went home with Wilson. She forgave him, and came to the realization that he was right.

That night, she was stretched out on her bed in his hotel room, asleep, her head cradled in her arm, as Wilson made phone call after phone call.

"House? House, where are you? I know you're there. Pick up the phone!"

He ended up yelling into the phone, which woke her up. "James, what's going on?"

He looked at her with fear written all over his face and said, "We've got to go. Now. Something's wrong, I can feel it." She grabbed her coat and was out the door, following him.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

Wilson jammed his key into the lock as fast as was humanly possible and rushed into the apartment. She followed him and looked around. There was an empty bottle of scotch sitting on the table. She didn't see him at first, but Wilson did.

He jumped over the table and looked at him. That was when she noticed him.

"DAD!" She jumped next to him. He was in bad shape. There was an orange prescription bottle laying next to him. He'd puked all over himself and seemed to be in between consciousness. "Dad?" she asked, starting to cry.

Wilson picked up the prescription bottle. "Zebalusky." He read off. "My patient…the one who died this morning. His Oxycodone prescription. Son of a bitch…" he threw the bottle on the floor next to him and stood up. Amelia took it and looked at it.

"Dad, you…you stole it from the pharmacy?" his eyes took over the glazed look and tried to register what was going on. She set it down gently next to him, unbelieving.

"Come on, Amelia. Let's go." Wilson helped her up. And then they left.

And House, even in his half conscious state, knew that it was over. He'd lost her.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

A/N: OMG, emotional chapter much? LOL. I hated House as I wrote this…but I thought it turned out fairly decent. R&R!


	10. Who I Am Hates Who I've Been

A/N: Time for a song fic! Let's go with…presses shuffle No, I'm kidding, I had this song as an idea for about three weeks now. "Who I am Hates Who I've Been" by Relient K. **I don't own House or Relient K obviously**. R&R! One of the last chapters…And Spoilers for the end of Merry Little Christmas. And I've decided that, unless I renigg on this decision next chapter, I'm cutting out the rehab thing. I'll include the trail, but not the rehab thing. But I might change my mind.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

_**I watched the proverbial sunrise  
Coming up over the Pacific and  
You might think I'm losing my mind,  
But I will shy away from the specifics...**_

House was tucked away on the top of the roof, holding one knee to his chest. He thought wryly in his mind that his knee was touching his heart, and keeping it there so it didn't fall out.

It was…quick check of the watch…5:58 in the morning. What the hell was he doing up here? Oh, yeah. Tritter. He rolled his eyes. Damn it. No, not damn it. Damn him.

Everyone thought that…the pills had a hold over him. "OK, I'll admit it. I'm addicted. But I need them. You can't fake an infarction. You can't fake pain this bad."

Everyone _also_ thought he had lost his mind. Especially Wilson and Amelia. "That damn kid…" The last thing he'd wanted was to have her see him like that. The fear in her eyes was enough to make him never want to touch another Vicodin or Oxycodone (or whatever the hell he'd downed that night) ever again. If he could take back that fear, he would never touch another narcotic again.

_**'Cause I don't want you to know where I am  
'Cause then you'll see my heart  
In the saddest state it's ever been.**_

His cell phone had been ringing off the hook for a few hours. Every glance at the caller I.D. proved that it was either Cuddy or Cameron. Probably worrying their hot little asses off about him. But he wouldn't let them see him or talk to him. Not right now, not after all that had happened in the past two days. He wouldn't let anyone see him.

His heart felt like it had been ripped into 1000 tiny pieces and thrown on the floor. This was worse than when Stacy left. This was worse than when Sarah died…this was worse than anything. House started to think back, no matter how painful it was.

_**This is no place to try and live my life.**_

"Dad…I'm going to live with Uncle James." Amelia whispered to him. "I can't stay here, watching you kill yourself anymore."

"Amelia, I was out of my mind." He muttered. "Detoxing."

"Dad, what I saw last night was in NO WAY you detoxing! That was you…trying to kill yourself! I can't live with someone who doesn't think enough about me to kill themselves over a narcotic."

"I didn't try to kill myself." He said, even though, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he had. Maybe not consciously, but subconsciously something had told him that drinking that amount of scotch with as many Oxycodone as he'd taken wouldn't just go down into his tummy and stay there safely.

"But you did. And I can't, or won't be a part of it and watch it happen anymore. You refused to take that deal the cop gave you." She said simply.

"I took the deal. Don't you get it?" he turned to Wilson, who had been standing in the corner watching it unfold, holding one of Amelia's three suitcases. "I accepted it. I went there that night you two found me and I took it and it didn't work!" He turned to Amelia. "Look, kid, I don't want you to go. I've grown kinda attached to ya." He thought that would cinch it. That and his puppy dog face, which he was totally pulling off right now.

"I know. I've grown kinda attached to you, too." She leaned into him and hugged him, and he wrapped his arms safely around her. She smiled.

Then when she pulled away the smile dropped off her face. "But I can't be a part of this life anymore." She shouldered her backpack and leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I'm sorry, Daddy. So, so, sorry."

He turned away. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. "She just needs…a more stable environment right now, House. It won't be for forever…"

House turned back to Wilson. "You…shut the hell up. You're stealing my kid."

"I'm not stealing your kid!"

"Yes, you are! So, as previously mentioned, SHUT THE HELL UP and get out of here."

_**[PreChorus**_

_**Stop right there. That's exactly where I lost it.  
See that line. Well I never should have crossed it.  
Stop right there. Well I never should have said  
That it's the very moment that  
I wish that I could take back.**_

Wilson looked at him, and as they were leaving the apartment, Amelia crying, he said, "There was a line, House, a fine line. A fine line between what you were doing and going overboard. And you crossed it." He stated.

"You know what, Wilson? You're right." he just trailed off. "Maybe I shouldn't have crossed that line. Maybe I shouldn't have said all those things to you…but I did…and I wish like hell that I could take it back. But I can't."

_**Chorus**_

_**I'm sorry for the person I became.  
I'm sorry that it took so long for me to change.  
I'm ready to try and never become that way again  
'Cause who I am hates who I've been.  
Who I am hates who I've been**_

Now, sitting up on the roof, he dialed Amelia's cell phone, which of course was turned off.

"Hey, this is Amelia. I'm not here at the mo, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can, thanks!" BEEEP.

"Hey, it's me. Look, it's been two days since you left…the apartment's silent. I miss your incessant chatter. I miss the way you left your stuff all over. I miss the way you used to yell at me if you thought I was out of line. I'm sorry for who I was. I'm trying to change because I didn't like who I was, either. But you'll never be able to see if I've changed if you don't…come home. Bye."

He closed the phone with his chin and swung his legs over the side of the ledge and hopped back onto the roof. He grabbed his cane and made his way slowly to the door that led back into the hospital.

_**I talk to absolutely no one.  
Couldn't keep to myself enough**_

He brushed past Cameron in the hallway, not even noticing her as she grabbed at his elbow. "House…do you need to talk?"

But he said nothing. He was keeping to himself, as he always did.

_**And the things bottled inside have finally begun  
To create so much pressure that I'll soon blow up.**_

House finally made it back to his office, where he shut the glass door and locked it tightly. He leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes, then shuffled over to his armchair and sat down as gracefully as possible.

He passed his cane back and forth between his hands. He sat there for hours like that, staring at his cell phone laying there on the desk, hoping it would start to ring. Hoping that the ringtone wouldn't be the dull, monotonous ringing, but the snazzy dance ringtone Amelia had programmed as her own.

Eventually, he gave into the sleep that had been threatening to claim him for a few hours and slept. His lids were heavy and he was strung out emotionally. When he opened his eyes again, it was 11:32 am. He checked his phone and saw that he had no missed calls.

Suddenly, everything that had been pressing down on him caused him to stand up and pick up the thick coffee mug that had been sitting on his desk for a week with dried coffee in the bottom and threw it at the wall. "Damn it!" he screamed as the coffee cup shattered and dented the wall deeply.

He flopped down in his chair and held his head in his hands.

_**I heard the reverberating footsteps  
Synching up to the beating of my heart,  
And I was positive that unless I got myself together,  
I would watch me fall apart.**_

_**And I can't let that happen again**_

_**Cuz then you'll see my heart**_

_**In the saddest state it's ever been.**_

_**This is no place to try and live my life.**_

He sat there staring at his hands after that. "Get it together, House. Come on, come on. It's gonna be ok…" he listened to the beating of his heart through his shirt and wanted to cry.

He missed her.

_**Pre chorus x2**_

_**Chorus**_

_**Who I am hates who I've been  
And who I am will take the second chance you gave me.  
Who I am hates who I've been  
'cause who I've been only ever made me...**_

_**Chorus**_

Two more weeks went by. House was a mess. He didn't sleep, didn't eat. He began to lose weight, which increased the thumping in his leg. He started getting headaches. He had bags under his eyes, and more anger than he'd ever felt in his entire life. He constantly felt like he wanted to scream. He constantly felt like he wanted to beat the crap out of Wilson for taking Amelia away, and then he felt like beating the crap out of himself for driving her to him in the first place.

Wilson took nearly two weeks off, with Cuddy's permission, to get Amelia acclimated to her new "environment". He told her that perhaps a few weeks to leave House to himself would do all three of them some good.

"I hope you're right." She'd muttered to Wilson as she laid in bed, tears rolling silently down her face.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

But all things had to come to an end. Wilson came back to work, briefcase in hand, and walked past House's office. Out of habit, he looked in the glass door and saw him laying there in his recliner, asleep. Conked out.

"Same old, same old…" he muttered softly. Being alone hadn't changed House at all. But then Wilson stepped closer to the glass and looked at him. There had obviously been some drastic physical changes. He banged into the office, letting the glass door slam shut behind him.

"What the hell have you done to yourself?" Wilson cried, jolting House out of his deep sleep.

"Hmm? Huh? What?" he muttered groggily. Then his eyes slowly registered on Wilson's face. "Get outta here." He said. "Just leave me alone."

"Look at you! What the hell's going on?! What happened? You look awful!" Wilson yelled. House held his head.

"Ow." Was his only word.

"House, you can't…you can't let yourself fall apart like this. You've lost weight, you've got bags under your eyes, so you haven't been sleeping properly, and by the looks of it, your leg must hurt like hell." Wilson said. Then he brought a cool hand to House's forehead. "And you've got a slight fever. Come on, what's going on?"

"I miss her, you toad brain!" he yelled, which was the best insult he could come up with at the time, in his pain and lack of sleep. "I miss her so much I can't eat or sleep or think…Haven't solved or taken a case in near two weeks. Did you bring her with you?" he asked hopefully, the first time any sort of hope or anything near it had come on his face lately.

"No. She's back at home."

"That's not her home. She belongs home with me."

"I'll let her know that's how you feel. Come on, let's go get something from the cafeteria. You need to eat."

House resisted, so Wilson said, "Come on. It's on me." He said with a wry smile.

He pondered it for a moment. "If you insist…"

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

Just like that, with a simple Reuben sandwich, dry, no pickles, House and Wilson were friends again.

And as they began to speak, Wilson watched House's blue eyes light up in a way he'd never seen. Mainly because they were speaking of Amelia.

"How's she doing?" he asked, biting into the sandwich. "She going to bed at a reasonable time? Helping you out with stuff? Summer school work, is it getting done?"

"She's fine, House. She does what she's told, when she's told…you've raised her right. I take some credit of course…" he said smiling.

"Yeah, but without Daddy Dearest, where would she be?" he asked. "Wilson, I'm coming over to see her tonight. I miss her like hell, and I'm not going to keep missing out on anything."

"Fine."

House had expected a fight, expected him to say 'No, that's not what's best for her, don't you want what's best for her?', but all he said was fine.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

Later that night, House climbed off his motorcycle and walked into the hotel, walked over to the elevators, and pressed the button for the third floor.

He walked slowly, agonizingly, to Wilson's room and opened the door. He saw her standing there, much as she had that night he'd gotten back from jail, and they stared at each other for about twenty seconds before she threw herself at him.

"DADDY!" She yelled, burying her face in his stomach like a little girl again.

"Hey, kid." He muttered.

"Oh, Dad, I'm sorry…I'm sorry, I wanna come home. I love Uncle Jimmy, but I miss you and I love you and I'm just so sorry, it was so dumb of me to leave, you needed me and I was just being so selfish and please, please, please forgive me…" she cried.

"Hey. You know you're welcome back home. And I'm way sorrier than you'll _ever_ be." He smiled and chucked her under the chin. "So, this mean you'll give me a second chance?"

"Of course."

"I'm not going to be that way anymore, Mia. I promise."

_**Who I am hates who I've been.**_

_**Who I am hates who I've been**_.

**HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE**

A/N: That was seriously the longest chapter ever. Would you be completely angry if next chapter was a songfic also? I don't think it will, but let me know…ok R&R!!!


	11. My Girls

A/N: Last chapter I believe. And no, I don't think there'll be a sequel. Seems as if it would be, I don't know, redundant and unnecessary. But if someone PM's me a good idea, I'll try and run with it.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

Amelia practically threw the beer at House. "Here. Pig. Can't even get your own beer, have to make the woman do it."

"You got it, babe." He grinned and popped the top off his beer and flicked it across the room. This was the life. Sitting here, drinking a beer with his girls.

Yes, girls. Amelia's 25th birthday came three weeks ago, and that also meant Maddie was 11 months old. Maddie was Amelia's little girl, the product of her four-year marriage to a man named Harper Rouge. House thought Harper's last name signaled that he was a pansy, but every time he brought it up Amelia would slug him in the arm, so he'd gradually stopped mentioning it.

Besides, Amelia had kept her maiden name.

House remembered her wedding day with complete clarity, despite the fact that he'd gotten smashed at the reception.

He had been in the brides room with her. He handed her a pair of white gloves and looked at her sadly. "You look beautiful, Mia."

"Thanks. You look sad." She said, studying his face with those dissecting blue eyes.

"I'm not sad. Why would I be sad? Hell, I'm finally getting rid of you!" He said, smiling a fake smile.

"Shut up! I hate you." she wound up and socked him in the shoulder, which sent him reeling a little backwards. He bumped into a chair. "Dad!" she rushed to his side. "You ok?"

He nodded and stood up straight. "See? You don't hate me. You love me." He grinned a silly grin.

"Ok…ok…I love ya…but you're still a jerk."

"I will give you that one." He paused then and put on a serious look. "Look…if this guy turns out to be a complete jerk…I mean, worse than me…well, I'll kill him and bring ya back home."

"What's that? Oh, uh oh, Dad, your fatherhood's showing." She grinned.

"I'm being serious, Mia…he ever lays a finger on you, he's dead."

"Dad, I believe Harper's one of the few good guys left. I'm safe with him. But thanks. It's good to know you have my back." She grinned. "I ever tell you how much you mean to me?"

"Naw." He said quietly.

"The world. You mean the _world_ to me, Dad. Always have and always will. You mean more to me than Harper does. I swear it." At that she pulled him into a bear hug.

"Oh, yeah? Prove it."

"Well…I'm keeping my maiden name." She smiled. "My motto is once a House, always a House."

He came back from that memory, because after that his memories tended to go in the throbbing headache, one too many shots of tequila, and seeing his daughter being taken away in a limo, never to be totally his again.

He took a drink of his beer then set it on the coffee table and stood up. He walked over to the bouncer where Maddie was seated and picked her up. She giggled and ran her hands down his scruffy cheeks and he glared at her playfully.

"Dad, don't antagonize the baby." Mia said from her chair where she was reading with her leg slung over it gently.

"I'm not. She loves me, don't you, Mads?" he tickled her belly gently.

"Gwandpa!" Maddie suddenly yelled.

Amelia dropped her book. "Did she just say something?"

"I dunno. Mads, what'd you say?" he asked curiously.

"Gwandpa!" she screamed triumphantly. Then again, over and over. "Gwandpa! Gwandpa!"

"I've gotta call Harper!" Amelia rushed and picked up her cell and dialed him.

Yep. House thought. This is the life. Beer, my girls, and love. Lots of love.

When was the last time he'd felt like this? So…at home?

Oh, yeah. Every day since Amelia had come back after that fateful few weeks she'd been gone.

He'd never stopped reminding her that he loved her. He had always said it to her twice a day. When she got up and when she went to bed. And then he remembered he hadn't said it yet that day.

"Hey." He said as she hung up the phone, flushing with pride, he hugged her. "I tell ya I love ya yet today?"

"No, Dad…and I love you too…" She hugged him back.

And things were perfect.

Well, he thought, looking as his daughter nearly dropped his granddaughter trying to juggle her and the diaper bag, things aren't perfect.

But they're the way they're supposed to be.

END.

HOUSEHOUSEHOUSE 

A/N: Hope ya'll liked it. This was a hard one to end. Hope it turned out ok.


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